


Let's Get Naked

by weecesting



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Sexual Tension, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 15:11:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7646125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weecesting/pseuds/weecesting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wincest AU that involves college artist!Sam and model!Dean</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Sam.”  
Sam leaned on his elbow on the desk, cheek pressed against a light fist as he stared intently at his doodle. The only thing giving away the face that he wasn’t zoning out was the minute, darting movement of his eyes in time with his pencil lightly scratching at the paper.  
“Sam.”  
His lips parted to reveal his tongue peeking out in the slightest manner, pressed to the corner of his lips as he worked. Focus, in one word.  
“Sam!”  
The crack of the pencil falling to the floor, the squeak of his chair as he sat up suddenly. His cheek had a small, red indent of where his fist had been. “Mm- what, yes?” His words stuttered out quickly, one after the other as he blinked up at the boy standing in front of him.  
“You- you are Sam, right?” The other boy checked in, raising an eyebrow with a small, crooked grin.  
“Yeah, m’Sam. Sorry, I get.. I get into it, you know?” He offered a sheepish smile. “Sorry, but, who are you?”  
“Dean,” the boy introduced with a ridiculously perfect smile. “I’m your model for the final.”  
It suddenly made sense to Sam, and he couldn’t stop the way his eyebrows rose, or the way he let out a soft breath. “Model,” he echoed in a whisper.  
“Model,” Dean confirmed, scratching at his arm absently. “So, uh, it’s due in two-”  
“Three-”  
“-three days, so we should probably get started.”  
Sam nodded, but the only thing he could think about was what his professor had said. Nude painting, photography, or sketching. Whatever strikes your fancy, he’d announced. Sam, of course, was a sketcher, preferring the simplicity of pencils and pens as opposed to water colors or complicated brush techniques. But, nude… He’d known that their models were going to meet up with them, but he’d never expected such a mature looking one. Broad shoulders, defined arms. A beautiful subject, really, and he hadn’t even taken his shirt off.   
“Right, um-”  
“No rush, though. Your art, man.” Dean smiled, which just so happened to momentarily daze the art student.  
“No, it’s okay, I…” Sam trailed off. “You can come over tonight and we can get started.” He chewed on his lip thoughtfully for a moment. “Here’s my address.” He began to rip out the page in his notebook he’d been doodling on.  
“Your drawing-”  
“It’s fine, just a doodle,” Sam mumbled distractedly as he quickly scrawled down his address. “Maybe you can just come around eight or nine?”  
“Sounds good.” Dean took the paper, and as he walked away, he grinned down at the picture. IT was intriguing; vines crawling up a wall. He carefully folded it, tucking it away into his pocket.  
Sam sat with his head down, hair in his face to hopefully hide the blush. Around him, other students were meeting their models, but no one else seemed to be having any difficulty breathing or steadying their heart rate. All he knew was that he’d have to figure himself out before eight tonight.

~~~~~

"Christ!" Sam exclaimed for about the hundredth time that evening as he hopped up and down, nursing a sore toe.  
He'd been rushing around his apartment, trying to tidy things up. He didn't live with anyone, and no one ever came over, so there was really no reason to ever make things look presentable. Sam was scatterbrained, a cluttered mess when it came to his home. It was an organized chaos, though, one that made perfect sense. Dirty clothes went on the left side of his bedroom, and clean on the right. To anyone else, it was just a pile. Or his art. Some may ask where he'd even find a pencil. But of course, there were three under that sketch pad right there.  
However, Sam felt this strange impulse to live up to something. To /impress/. Dean, anyway. He didn't really give two shits about what anyone else thought, but for some reason, his model for his final project resulted in Sam sweeping the floor. Heaven forbid.  
A quick brush of his hair out of his eyes and a glance up at the clock revealed ten til eight. This meant another whirlwind of activity, this time in the kitchen as he haphazardly shoved dishes into their respective cabinets or as orderly as possible in the sink.  
It was another twenty minutes before Dean showed. He held the paper with Sam's doodle and address, eyes flickering between it and the apartment numbers as he walked slowly down the hall. When he found it, he shoved the paper back into his pocket and knocked twice, quick raps that stung his knuckles.  
No answer. Three more, louder. Four. A fist now.  
Finally, he was becoming worried, and he slowly reached for the knob. It was unlocked; and he stepped inside hesitantly. "Sam?" He called out, and upon getting no answer, he closed the door behind him and took a few steps into the apartment. "Hey, Sam, uh- it's Dean... Your model?" Suddenly there was a flurry of excitement, a mop of shaggy hair and lanky limbs and a startled gasp from bright pink lips running straight into Dean.  
"Holy shit!" Sam wheezed, doubling over for a moment as he stepped back.  
"Jesus, kid, I-"  
"No, just- I'm okay, give me a second..."  
"I knocked a bunch, and-"  
"I didn't hear.."  
"I called out," Dean added, taking a step forward and setting a gentle hand on Sam's back.  
"I had music playing in the room- never mind, I'll.. I'm sorry. Come in."  
"Already in, Sammy," Dean joked, raising an eyebrow. "You sure you're okay?"  
Sam waved Dean's question off, taking a deep breath. But he frowned, tilting his head to the side slightly. "Sammy?" He mumbled.  
Dean's eyes widened, and he stuttered for a moment before quickly apologizing. "I'm sorry, I- I didn't mean to- to say-"  
"No, it's okay, I just... No one ever really calls me that," Sam said quietly, almost thoughtfully as he stared at the floor, eyebrows furrowed.  
Dean licked his lips, taking a small step forward. His hand still rested lightly on Sam's back. "Do you.. Do you want to be called that?" His voice was soft.  
Sam glanced up, meeting Dean's eyes, and he couldn't help the strange warmth that seeped into his body from Dean's fingertips. "Yeah... Yeah I'd like that," he whispered.  
"Good," Dean grinned, breaking into a smile. "Let's get naked, huh?"


	2. Chapter 2

"Like this?"  
"Mm..."  
"How about this?"  
"Just-"  
"Here."  
There was a bit of shuffling as Dean situated himself on the window sill, where Sam wanted him to be.  
"It's just not..."  
"Why don't you show me then?"  
Sam bit his lip, and he hesitantly moved forward. "Are you sure? Can I-"  
"Go for it."  
Sam reached out, gently taking ahold of Dean's wrist. However, he froze at Dean's sharp intake of breath, eyes widening. "What? What'd I do?"  
"Your hands are freezing."  
Sam rolled his eyes, swallowing hard. "Sorry... Now just- sit still."  
"Sitting still is what I do, Sammy."  
There was that nickname again, and Sam ducked his head to hide the soft blush. "Can you- lift your leg up, here..." He softly pushed at Dean's leg, until he'd gotten the idea and brought it up to his chest. "There."  
"What do you want me to do with my face?"  
"Um.."  
"How about this." Dean slowly lowered his chin to rest on the top of his knee, and stared straight ahead softly.  
"Oh, perfect," Sam mumbled, and he stepped back. "Yeah, perfect, let me just..." He grabbed a camera, snapping a picture just in case he'd need it for later.   
"So," Dean said with a small smile. "Outlining?" Sam nodded, a small smile on his face as he tugged his oversized sketchbook propped up on an easel towards him.   
"Mhmm," he hummed.  
It was quiet as he lifted his pencil and began to scratch soft lines onto the paper, eyes flickering back and forth from Dean to his sketch. Shapes, angles, outlines. That's what Sam was looking at. And by God, this boy had the most beautiful structure…  
Dean watched, perfectly motionless save for his eyes, watching Sam as he worked. There was something so pure about it, as if he were witnessing something he shouldn't be.  
"You don't work with music on?" He asked softly.  
Sam shook his head, licking his lips as he frowned, erasing a line and studying Dean's shoulder again. "No... Can't focus. I get too into it, start messing things up." He paused, tilting his head as he examined his drawing. "Besides," he mumbled. "It's peaceful. Kind of like... You're one with your art, you know?"  
Dean was silent. He didn't know. But this boy did, and there was a certain warmth in Dean's heart because of it.

~~~~~

Sam let out a soft sigh as he finally let the pencil drop, running a hand through his hair as he leaned back to examine his sketch so far. He'd just finished the outline of Dean, which wasn't the most difficult part. But it had taken a while, and Sam was in need of a break.  
"Finished?" Dean asked softly, and Sam laughed.  
"Not even close. Just with the outline."  
"Oh." Dean paused, but grinned brightly. "Break time?"  
Sam hesitated, but nodded. "Yeah, a break sounds good. A /drink/ sounds good," he added under his breath.  
"Hell yeah," Dean agreed as he unfolded himself from his position. His leg was a bit stiff, and he stretched out slowly.  
Sam's eyes widened, and he quickly turned away, color rising on his cheeks. "Um- I have.. Do you want something to drink?" He babbled a bit as he very clearly avoided looking at Dean, who chuckled lightly.  
"C'mon, Sammy, it's just anatomy." He continued to stretch, arms behind his head now. "You already saw me."  
"I know, I just..." Sam trailed off as he moved into the kitchen, and Dean's eyebrows lifted in interest.  
He hopped down from the window sill and padded after Sam, moving to stand behind him, only a bit closer than he maybe should have, or would have with anyone else. "You just what?" He murmured.  
Sam chewed on the inside of his cheek as he raised himself up onto his tiptoes to reach a bottle of wine from a shelf, and as he heard Dean's voice, he swallowed hard. "Just, um, want to give you your privacy, I guess."  
Dean snorted softly. "I'm a model. Nude model. Privacy isn't really a thing for my kind."  
Sam sighed, realizing Dean had a point. By now, he was struggling with the bottle, trying to pop the cork. But he couldn't get it, and huffed out in frustration.  
"Here," Dean murmured, and he reached around Sam for the bottle and the opener. As he did so, his arm brushed along Sam's, but he didn't correct his path. With ease, he popped the cork, and he set the bottle down on the counter, once again touching Sam's arm. "There we go."  
Sam's lips parted, eyes flickering to his arm where Dean had touched it, skin seeming to almost tingle with warmth. "Thanks," he mumbled, and he was frozen for a brief moment before snapping out of it to grab two glasses.  
"Hope you like red," he spoke conversationally as he poured.  
"Love me some classy red," Dean joked, and Sam couldn't help the eye roll as he handed him his glass. "Cheers," Dean all but whispered as Sam turned around, gently touching his glass to the artist's.  
"Cheers," Sam echoed quietly, raising his glass to his lips and peeking over the rim to look at Dean as he sipped.   
Dean did the same, and he couldn't help but think how /easy/ it would be to simply step forward, pin the other to the counter. See what his lips felt like, what they tasted like under the wine.


	3. Chapter 3

"Okay, okay, okay," Dean laughed, leaning back against the couch and staring at the ceiling for a moment. He'd pulled on his sweats, not wanting to make Sam uncomfortable by lounging around in his birthday suit, and was stretched out across the cushions. "Craziest thing you've ever done."  
Sam sat on the floor, back against the couch as he held his wine glass. The bottle was three quarters of the way gone, and Sam had rosy cheeks to prove it. "I'm not a very exciting person," he admitted with a laugh.  
Dean raised his eyebrows, sipping at his glass. Fifth? He'd lost count. Didn't matter. "C'mon, Sam.."  
Sam laughed, holding his hand up. "Okay, I- I went skinny dipping once?" He offered, tipping his head back against the couch to look up at Dean.  
Dean grinned. "There you go. Scandalous." He offered a wink before downing the rest of his glass. "Hey- you okay down there? Your ass must be numb." He nodded at the wood floor Sam sat on.  
Sam glanced down, lips parted. "Oh, no- I'm fine, it's not-"  
"Come up here."  
"What?"  
"Come on, get up here." Dean patted the couch.  
Sam briefly met Dean's eyes before quite literally deciding 'fuck it' as he pushed himself up off the floor.  
"Here," Dean mumbled, and he sat up, drawing his legs underneath him to make room.  
Sam sat down, but Jesus, he was drunk, and he cursed slurredly as he fell back a bit, practically landing in Dean's lap. Dean laughed, reaching out to steady him, a hand on his chest. Sam's cheeks were warm, and he mumbled an apology as he began to get up, but the pressure on his chest increased.  
"S'okay. Stay," Dean murmured.  
And maybe it was because Sam was drunk, but he did, sighing softly as he relaxed back into the couch. He glanced up at Dean, who smiled softly down at him.  
"Hi," he mumbled, and Dean laughed.  
"Hey."  
Sam closed his eyes, listening to the clicking of the air conditioner as it turned on. Dean was quiet for a moment before speaking again. "Okay," he started. "Craziest thing... How about: boyfriends? Craziest boyfriend you've ever had?" He bit his lip as he glanced down at the boy in his lap.  
His hair was a bit messy, and his cheeks were rosy, the tip of his nose a bit pink as well. But his eyes were bright, and he watched them widen at his question.  
"I, um. Never had one..?" Sam spoke after a few moments of silence, voice soft and trailing off into nothing.  
Dean raised an eyebrow, and he smacked his lips a bit. "Naw, not with a jawline like that," he teased, and he (not so) casually let his hand fall to rest on Sam's side.  
Sam laughed, rubbing a hand down his face. "Me and my jawline don't have good game, thank you very much," he bantered back through his blush.  
"That's subjective."  
"You're subjective."  
"What does that even mean?"  
"I don't know, I'm drunk."  
"Me too."  
And just like that, Dean didn't have to wonder what Sam's lips tasted like. (Cherry wine and cinnamon.) At first, Sam's lips were still. Didn't move, didn't respond to Dean's. Dean's heart dropped down to his stomach, he swore. But then Sam was /there/. Lips slowly melding with Dean's, parting against his, inviting Dean. And Dean wasted no time. His tongue slipped into Sam's mouth, and he could taste the wine, cherry bitter and sweet at the same time. But he wanted to taste /Sam/, and he only deepened the kiss. He didn't even care that he was hunched over to reach Sam in his lap.  
Sam let out a shaky breath into Dean's mouth. "Dean..."  
"Mm.."  
"What-"  
"Shh.."  
Dean took Sam's bottom lip in between his own to suck softly, hand slowly moving to cup the side of Sam's face. "/Dean/.."  
Dean finally pulled away, lips pink and a bit swollen. And God almighty did he almost dive right back down, because a string of spit clung to Sam's kissed out lips, and Dean /wanted/ him. Sam stared up at him with wide eyes, swallowing hard. "I- I think we should get back to work," Sam breathed, not trusting his voice.  
"Translation," Dean murmured. "You want to see me naked again."  
Sam's cheeks colored with a predictable blush, and Dean snickered. "No, no, I get it. This is the final grade. I know."  
Sam nodded, closing his eyes as he blew out a soft, steadying breath. His mind spun, and he knew he had to get himself in check. Otherwise, this project was never going to get finished.  
"Okay," he mumbled. "Here's the plan."  
Dean raised his eyebrows in acknowledgment, looking down at Sam expectantly. The hand that had been on his face now rested lightly on his shoulder. "I like to draw the eyes first," Sam continued, gaze automatically flickering to Dean's eyes. "So. I finish that, and we call it a night, okay?"  
Dean didn't say anything, just smiled slightly. "Okay?" Sam repeated, raising an eyebrow. However, he couldn't help the tiny, crooked smile that tugged at the corner of his lips.  
"Whatever you say, boss," Dean winked.  
"Right. Let's get on with it, then."


	4. Chapter 4

"Dean."  
"What?"  
"Please."  
"What?"  
"Blinking."  
"Sorry, Sammy, got me flutterin' my eyes 'nd swoonin' for you, baby." Sam's cheeks flushed, and he furrowed his brows in an attempt to focus. "Dean," he whined, pausing with his hand resting against the paper, tip of his pencil hovering over an unfinished iris. "Sorry, sorry. I'll try harder." Dean bit his lip to suppress a chuckle as Sam looked away, and when he looked back, Dean was staring at him with wide, crossed eyes.  
"Dean Winchester!" Sam exclaimed, throwing his arms up in the air.  
"Alright, alright, I'm done!" Dean lifted a hand in surrender, but Sam quickly stopped him.  
"Don't move, the lighting will be different."  
"So bossy."  
"Mm."  
"So controlling. Y'like to be in control, Sammy?" Dean teased, and Sam pressed his lips together as he tried to tune him out. "Like to tell people just what you like?" Sam swallowed hard, ignoring the shiver that wanted to force its way down his spine. He was tipsy, and so was Dean. That's all this was, right?  
"I bet you do," Dean continued, casually. As if he were discussing weather with a stranger in a market queue. "Anyway. Y'almost done?"  
"You wish," Sam mumbled.  
"Really?"  
"Kidding. I have some more shading, and then I'll be done."  
"Do you have to be looking at me like this anymore?" Dean asked with a sigh. "Not really," Sam admitted. He liked freestyling eyes. He thought it gave them character.  
"Good." Dean hopped off of the window sill, stretching out (which Sam promptly ignored as he focused.  
But it became /very/ hard to do so when he felt Dean behind him, slowly slipping hands from Sam's shoulders to his chest, to his abdomen. "Looks good," he murmured, leaning down a bit to speak directly in Sam's ear. "Listen, if you don't have to finish this now.." He paused, letting his nose brush at the skin just behind Sam's ear. "How about you tell me a little bit more about what you like?"  
Sam didn't even realize his eyes were slipping closed until he heard the small clatter of his pencil on the floor. Dean's hand was dangerously low on his stomach, but Sam couldn't find it in him to stop him.  
"So," Dean breathed. "What do you say, Sammy boy?"  
Sam didn't finish the eyes.

~~~~~

Sam had let Dean drag him to the couch, and had somehow been tricked into being pinned down, Dean laying on top of him with his elbows blocking Sam's head in on either side of his cheeks.  
Their lips had become more than well acquainted by then, easily falling into a pattern in which they melted against each other's like they'd done this for years.  
"So," Dean breathed against Sam's lips. "Tell me what you like." A slow hand trailed up and down Sam's side.  
Sam flushed bright pink. "Dean, I don't-"  
"No, not like that," Dean scolded with a peck to Sam's lips. "Tell me what you like. Tell me about you. Who are you, Sam?" He mumbled, pausing to press a slow kiss to Sam's lips. "Wanna know you... Wanna know if you're a morning person or not, wanna know how you like your steak cooked, wanna know if you like tea or coffee-"  
"Coffee."  
"Coffee," Dean echoed softly, kissing him in between his words. "Black or with cream?"  
"Cream."  
"Sugar?"  
"Only a little."  
"See..." Dean trailed off, lips at Sam's jaw. "S'not so hard.."  
Sam's eyes fluttered, and he found himself tipping his head back to give Dean better access to the sweet skin of his neck.  
"Medium rare," he whispered.  
"What?" Dean mumbled against Sam's chin. "My steak. I like it medium rare."  
Dean chuckled, nosing at Sam's jaw. "I'll keep that in mind."  
"And I'm the farthest thing from a morning person," Sam breathed, lifting one hand to run it through Dean's hair, gently tangling his fingers in the strands and tugging the knots out. "What else, Sam?" Dean whispered, continuing to leave a soft trail of open-mouthed kisses along his neck.  
"What else?" Sam echoed.  
"Are you a summer or winter person?" Dean murmured against his throat. "Winter."  
"Why?" He pulled away to look Sam in the eyes, a small smile on his lips. "Three reasons."  
"Only three?"  
"Three. Go."  
Sam raised an eyebrow. "Hot chocolate. Snow days. Christmas."  
Dean paused, just staring at Sam with unreadable eyes. Sam shifted slightly. "What?"  
"Nothing," Dean whispered.  
Sam closed his eyes, Dean's lips simply just dragging along the skin of his neck now, not bothering with the kisses. Dean wanted to leave no centimeter untouched. "Like to be single or taken?"  
Sam hesitated, opening his eyes to glance down at Dean. He could only see the top of his head. “Taken.”  
Dean’s head lifted, the smallest of smiles on his lips. “One more.”  
“One more.”  
“Mine or someone else’s?”  
Silence. Soft breath.  
“Yours.”


	5. Chapter 5

Dean had wanted to stay the night. /God/ had he wanted to. But he'd already thrown a lot at Sam that night, and he didn't want to overwhelm the kid. It was around midnight when Dean finally pulled his clothes back on, peeling himself off of Sam. He'd been laying on top of him, absently twisting his hair around his fingers.  
Sam, on the other hand, had fallen asleep, head tipped back against the couch, lips parted. Light weight, of course. Dean should've known. Dean thought he looked younger. Worry-free. Innocent. /Beautiful/.  
Dean scrawled a quick note on a scrap piece of paper, which he propped up on Sam's easel, knowing he'd see it whenever he woke up. 'Went home, thought I'd give you some peace. Maybe you can finish those eyes tomorrow morning. I'll be back tomorrow night. -Dean x'  
He'd slipped out the door, and walked home, fresh air clearing his mind of everything but Sam. He had a feeling he'd have to get used to that boy invading his thoughts.

~~ the next day ~~

Dean knocked on Sam's door, leaning against the frame. He held two coffees in his hand, black for himself and one with cream and a 'little bit' of sugar for Sam (It wasn't as if he'd forget). He only had to wait about three seconds before it was opened; the kid had to have been standing there and waiting for it.  
"Do you have a moment to talk about our lord and savior-"  
Sam interrupted him, leaning in to press his lips to Dean's, one hand curling around his collar. Dean's eyebrows quirked up, but he kissed back, slow and soft. When Sam pulled away, Dean looked over him with amused eyes. "-Jesus Christ?" Dean finished, a bit breathlessly.  
Sam grinned. "No." He pulled Dean inside, letting the door slam a bit behind him as he wandered back into the living room.  
Dean was slightly surprised by the confidence boost, but it certainly wasn't a negative. "Got you a coffee," he announced, kicking off his shoes as he followed Sam. "Oh, good, it's gonna be a long night. I want to get this finished." Sam grinned back at him, holding his hand out for the coffee.  
"Ambitious," Dean murmured with a smile, handing him the drink. He glanced up at the drawing, seeing his eyes staring back at him.  
His own widened, and he tilted his head to the side. They looked so /realistic/. "Damn." He looked over the rest that Sam had worked on when he was gone, most of the hair finished as well.  
Sam watched him look over it, chewing on his lip nervously. "I'm going to fix that, actually, s'not the greatest-"  
"Sam."  
"Hm?"  
"You've got some talent, kid." Dean reached out to ruffle his hand through Sam's hair, but it turned into something closer to a pet.  
Sam closed his eyes with a small smile. For a moment, he was quiet, sipping at his coffee. However, after a few minutes, he glanced up at Dean. "You should take your clothes off," he grinned.  
Dean feigned shock. "Buy me dinner first."  
"Coffee count?"  
"I bought it."  
"Shut up and get naked."  
"I like the way you think."  
He left his clothes in a pile on the floor at Sam's feet.

~~~~~

"And-" Sam hummed, dragging the word out as he scratched a few more lines into the definition of Dean's chest. "-done."  
He grinned triumphantly, letting his pencil fall to the floor with a satisfying clatter as he leaned back in his chair. His hand cramped, his neck was sore from tilting it to the side the way he did when he drew, and it was nearly two in the morning, but his art final was /finished/.  
"Hey, good job," Dean murmured, chin on his knee still and his eyes half open.  
"Dean, you can relax now," Sam laughed quietly. "Right." With a small grunt, he unfolded himself from his position. He was sore, having been sitting like that for nearly four hours straight. "No offense, Sammy, but /finally/."  
"Art takes time."  
"Obviously," Dean teased, and he wandered over to stand behind Sam. "Holy shit."  
"Eh? Eh?" Sam grinned, proud of his work and ecstatic that the process was over.  
"Sam," Dean said seriously, and the smile was wiped from the boy's face as he turned in his seat to look up at him. "I need you to do something, right now."  
Sam's heart stuttered, and he stared at Dean with wide eyes. "Dean, wha-"  
"I need you to kiss me."  
Sam hesitated, his heart seeming to fall from his throat as he relaxed, but then slamming against his chest again as he processed it. "Think you can do that for me?" Dean whispered with a cheeky smile. "Hell yeah," Sam breathed as he stood suddenly, almost knocking the chair to the floor as he took Dean's face in his hands.  
The kiss was deep, and slow. Full of tongue, full of soft lip sucking and light breaths into each other's mouths. "You're all mine, right, Sammy?" Dean whispered against the kiss.  
Sam paused, taking a small breath. "Yours.." He answered quietly.  
"'Nd you'll let me call you baby?" Dean asked, pressing his forehead to Sam's.  
Sam smiled, tipping his chin up just enough to press his lips to Dean's again for a short, light kiss. "Mhm."  
"Baby.." Dean sighed, testing it out on his tongue. Warm and sweet, just like Sam.  
A shiver ran down Sam's spine, and he nodded. "Yes.." He mumbled, fingers absently playing with Dean's hair at the back of his neck.  
"One more question, Sammy.."  
"Hm?"  
“You ever let anyone touch you?” Dean whispered, lifting a gentle hand to slowly slide it down Sam’s chest, fingers catching on the fabric of his shirt slightly.  
Sam swallowed hard, closing his eyes. “No,” he admitted, hardly audible.  
“I lied, baby,” Dean said quickly, pecking Sam’s cheek. “I have /one/ more…”  
Sam was quiet, chewing on his lip.  
“Would you let me touch you?” Dean asked, hardly above a whisper. His hand paused on Sam’s abdomen, fingers splayed out.  
Sam felt like he’d combust right then and there. A hard swallow followed the way his lips twitched. It was silent for a few moments.  
“Yes.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *WARNING- SMUT*

They'd found themselves in Sam's bed, feet tangled up in wrinkled sheets and chests pressed together, sharing heat. And at first it was innocent, soft kisses, hands on cheeks, fingers carding through hair. But there was something in the air that couldn't be ignored, that Dean wasn't /going/ to ignore. "Baby," he whispered against Sam's lips, and he loved the way he felt the other boy's body almost immediately melt right into his. The power of a simple word... "Baby, look at me. Look up at me, hey."  
He gently guided Sam's head up by his chin, briefly offset by how warm Sam's eyes really were. Browns and golds and greens. Warmth. Comfort. Ease.  
"Sam, I- I need to know..." He whispered. "I don't want you doing anything you don't want to, yeah?" He smiled, running his thumb along Sam's cheek softly. "We can take this as slow," he paused, letting the word hang in the air as he leaned forward to place a small kiss to Sam's chin. "As we want." Sam felt warm, spreading from his head to his toes and every crack in between. "S'okay," he whispered. "I'm okay." He lifted a hand to rest it on Dean's cheek. "If I didn't want you here, you'd be long gone," he teased with a small smile, which Dean couldn't help but reciprocate. "So show me."  
Dean felt a flash of heat shoot through his nerves, and he swallowed. "Baby.. I wanna show you," he almost groaned, pressing himself closer and a bit on top of the other boy. "I wanna show you everything... Wanna teach you... Everything," he breathed against Sam's lips, just before letting them trail down his throat. "But you stop me if you-"  
"Dean."  
"Sammy, I'm serious."  
Sam bit his lip, but nodded. He couldn't help but feel warm inside at the thought of Dean wanting to make sure he knew what he wanted. It was sweet. It was so /caring/, and Sam didn't think he'd ever had that before from anyone.  
Dean's lips left a trail of goosebumps all the way down to his chest, and his hands slowly snaked around to press to the small of Sam's back, hooking him in even closer.  
Slowly, one hand slipped down, lower, lower.  
He let out a soft breath as he traced Sam’s curves, and a quiet gasp he heard from Sam encouraged him to grip gently, tugging Sam’s leg up and under his own.  
“Wanna make you feel good,” Dean whispered against the skin of Sam’s collarbone, just before letting his teeth graze it.  
Sam’s eyes fluttered shut, and he bit his lip tightly at the feeling of Dean’s hand at his ass. Subconsciously, he was pressing himself closer into Dean’s chest.  
“I wanna hear you say it again,” Dean grinned, tipping his head back to see him.  
“Say what?” Sam breathed.  
“Say you’re mine…”  
“Yours…” Sam trailed off. “M’yours.”  
“My boy,” Dean hummed in satisfaction, dipping his head back down.  
Sam had to resist the urge to squirm underneath Dean’s lips as they trailed all the way down his chest, his hips. Dean glanced up as he hooked a finger underneath the waistband of Sam’s boxers, tugging them down an inch or two.  
“Like I said, Sammy,” he whispered. “Gonna take this nice ‘n slow.”  
Sam sucked in a sharp breath.  
Kissing wasn’t the only thing Dean’s lips were good for.  
They took their time, just like Dean had promised. And before Dean did anything new, he'd tell Sam just what he was going to do, whispering in his ear or against the skin of his neck or his jaw. "Gonna flip you over, baby.."  
Sam nodded breathlessly, and he closed his eyes as he felt warm hands trailing down his back, and Dean hovering over him to to deliver a soft kiss to the back of his neck. His cheek pressed to the pillow, and he sucked in a sharp breath as he felt Dean's finger gliding along his entrance, slick with lube, even though he'd already been told. ("Might not feel good now, but I promise you it gets better, baby".)  
Dean leaned down, letting his chest press gently to Sam's back as he pushed his face into the crook of his neck. "Remember baby," I'm here." "Okay..." Sam tilted his head to kiss Dean's temple.  
"Ready?"  
"Ready."  
It hurt, Sam had to admit. He clenched his jaw, muscles tensing all over his body as he felt Dean's finger slide in slowly. Dean winced, hating that he had to do this to him.  
"If it's too much, Sam, I-"  
"No," Sam panted. "I want to do this."  
Dean kissed the underside of Sam's jaw, and kept going. And as he went, eventually adding a second, and a third, he kissed at Sam's face, whispered encouragements, sweet nothings. "My baby... So good for me.. Doin' so well, sweetheart... So good..."  
When the time finally came around that both Sam and Dean were comfortable that he was ready, Sam flipped back onto his back, lifting his legs to wrap around Dean's waist. "Dean," he whispered, waiting until the other boy met his eyes. "I want this."  
"Me too," Dean whispered, staring straight into Sam's eyes. He wanted it all. He wanted his body, yes. Wanted to touch every inch, wanted to kiss every crevice. But he wanted /Sam/. He wanted sleepy Sam in the morning and grumpy Sam before coffee and excited Sam when he finished an art piece.  
Sam smiled, taking ahold of Dean's face in both hands. "Then Dean..." He bit his lip as he hesitated slightly. "Take me."  
Dean's pupils dilated with lust.

~~~~~

"Easy..."  
Sam puffed out a small breath, eyebrows pulling together as he clenched his jaw.  
"Baby, you gotta breathe," Dean reminded gently as he softly carded his fingers through Sam's hair. "I know it doesn't feel good now, I know, but I'm gonna make you feel so good, Sammy baby, so good.."  
Sam nodded slowly, letting out a long breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding until Dean said something. "I'm- I'm okay, I- it's okay," he whispered. "Shh.." Dean mumbled, ducking his head to press his lips gently to Sam's neck. He'd bottomed out, and was giving Sam time to adjust, but also time to back out if he didn't want this after all.  
After a few moments of stillness, of soft kisses and reassuring whispers, of deep breaths and hands everywhere, Dean began to move. Slowly, just barely beginning to rock his hips down into Sam, who let out a soft whimper that made Dean falter.  
"Dean," he whispered breathily.  
"Talk to me, Sam," Dean murmured worriedly, leaving a trail of kisses across his cheek.  
"/Move/," Sam gasped in return, and surprising even himself, he wriggled his hips back in an attempt to feel more.  
Dean said nothing, just began to move fluidly against Sam. Soft and slow, easy and gentle. His elbows pressed to the bed on either side of Sam's head, supporting himself above the other boy. Sam's arms had long been hooked around Dean's neck, squeezing tighter as they went.  
"So good," Dean breathed. "Gonna make you feel so good..."  
His hips picked up pace until they were moving steadily, bumping Sam's lightly with each thrust. Sam lifted his head, lips parted in a perfect "o" as he strained his neck up, pressing down on the back of Dean's neck so that their foreheads ended up pressed together.  
"You okay, baby?" Dean murmured, tilting his chin up enough to brush his lips along Sam's, who simply nodded.  
Sam was more than okay, in fact. He was on top of the /world/. Heat radiated throughout his whole body, from the crown of his head to the tips of his toes, and everything in between. Pleasure, synonymous with warmth.  
His body rocked with Dean's every move, and he moaned softly as Dean's head dropped, lips leaving hot, wet trails of soft kisses all over his neck, collarbones, and chest.  
"D-Dean," he choked out. "Kiss me.."  
Dean was quick to oblige, pressing his lips to Sam's quickly. The kiss was deep, all tongue and no space for anything, not even breath. Sam was already out of it, but when he felt Dean hit that one spot, that one /sweet/ spot that would drive any man to his knees, he felt a tightening in his core.  
"Oh-oh, God," he whined, back arching up into Dean.  
"I gotcha, I gotcha, baby," Dean soothed, one arm curling around Sam's back to hold him up and keeping him pressed to his chest. The other arm curled around Sam's head, pulling his face to his neck. "You're close, aren't you?" He whispered.  
Sam couldn't form anything close to a sentence, so he simply nodded furiously. One hand came up to grip at Dean's wrist, and Dean loosened his hold on Sam's head to interlock their fingers gently. He could feel Sam's body shaking, trembling, /begging/ for release as he continued to grind himself down in just the right spot. He himself, from the pleasure combined with Sam- his smell, his sounds, his touch- was almost at that breaking point, and he ducked his head with a gravelly groan.  
"Dean, I-"  
"S'okay, baby, let it go... Let it go..."  
His hand moved from Sam's back to his length, and he slowly stroked him through. He whispered sweetly in Sam's ear as the boy's body shook. His fingers tightened around Dean's, and his back arched higher and higher, a sheen of sweat on his forehead as he burst into pleasure, feeling as if he were on fire.  
And Dean was gone too, hoarse praise slipping from his lips along with a few curses against Sam's lips as he rode it out with him, hips slowing to a lazy circling as they both sat on cloud nine for a while.  
It was quiet, save for their heavy breaths, Sam's head thrown back against the pillows, Dean's buried in Sam's neck. It was a while longer before Dean gently pulled out, and moved to lie down next to Sam, tugging him into his body.  
"You okay, baby?" Sam was quiet, and Dean felt his heart stop. "Sammy, are you-"  
"Dean."  
Dean searched Sam's eyes with his own wide open. "I feel amazing."


	7. Chapter 7

Sam was still working on controlling his breath, heart still pounding against his chest. His body still tingled with little aftershocks of pleasure, and his skin was hot to the touch. His hair was disheveled, cheeks bright pink and lips parted.  
In other words, he was beautiful.  
Dean didn't know how long he laid there, Sam curled into his chest, as he just /stared/ at him. Like he needed to remember everything. Dean wanted to remember the way Sam's hair stuck up a little on the left side even though he tried to push it down. He wanted to remember the little mole on Sam's cheek, the freckle on his arm. He wanted to remember the way his cheeks flushed, the way his neck was colored softly too. Dean needed it all. He'd already worked on remembering other things.  
He remembered the way Sam's nose twitched when he had an itch as he sketched but didn't want to take his hands away from the paper long enough to scratch it. He remembered the way Sam hiccups when he has too much to drink. He remembered the way Sam absently chewed on the lid of his coffee cup when he finished it, leaving little teeth marks in the plastic. Dean was never going to forget Sam, and he was sure of that. Never. "Dean?" Sam whispered, turning in his arms a bit to look back at him.  
"Mhm?" Dean hummed, hand coming up to rest at the base of Sam's neck, trailing his fingers along the skin softy.  
"You're..." Sam faded out, and Dean could tell he had that worried look of his on. Eyebrows pulled together, eyes avoiding direct contact.  
"I'm what, baby?" Dean whispered, lifting his hand to move to Sam's jaw. He ran a thumb along Sam's bottom lip, tugging it down ever so slightly.  
"You're not gonna leave, are you?" Sam breathed.  
Dean was quiet for a moment, and he stared at Sam until hazel met green. "Sam, look at me." He paused, raising an eyebrow. "Do I look like I'm gonna leave you?"  
Sam bit his lip, a tiny smile threatening to appear.  
"That's what I thought. Come here." Sam snuggled back into Dean's arms, decompressing with a soft, content sigh.  
"I'll be here in the morning, Sammy."  
"Promise?"  
"Promise."


	8. Chapter 8

Dean Winchester was many things, but he was not a liar, and he /was/ a man of his word. So, just as promised, he was right next to Sam when the artist woke.  
He was right next to Sam when he received his grade for the final (A+, God the kid had talent, Dean was so insanely proud of him that he took him to dinner and let him order a goddamn steak).  
He was right next to Sam when the school year ended, and summer began.  
He was right next to Sam when they graduated together, right next to him as they tossed their caps into the air and kissed as they rained down around them.  
He was right next to Sam when he moved in with him, and right next to him when he found a new spot for his easel.  
Dean Winchester was also right /in front/ of Sam.  
He was right in front of Sam when he dropped to one knee in the square one night next to that one fountain Sam liked to sit at when he wanted to draw in the fresh air.  
He was right in front of Sam at the altar, hands locked together as they listened to themselves be pronounced husband and husband.  
Dean Winchester was many things, but he was not a thief. Except this one time; one time, he allowed himself to steal Sam's last name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! The format may be just a bit strange, because I originally wrote it out in parts to post on my instagram account (@weecesting). I'd love some feedback, though, and I plan on writing more full fledged fics in the future! :)


End file.
